Thessalonians
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for Point of No Return, 5x18. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode Point of No Return, 5x18. It belongs to Eric Kripke and Jeremy Carver.  
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**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. Or, look up paperstorm on AO3 for a much easier way to follow this series.**

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><p><em>Put on faith and love as a breastplate, and the hope for salvation as a helmet.<em>

_Thessalonians 5:8_

Sam finds Dean exactly where he knows he will. Things between them can be as good or bad as they want to be, but Sam still knows his brother. He knows where Dean is going, what Dean's doing. Saying goodbye to the people he owes it to (although somewhat unnecessarily because Sam's pretty sure Lisa wouldn't have been surprised if she never heard from Dean again), and then packing up the few important things he owns in a box for Sam. He didn't say goodbye to Sam, because Sam wouldn't have let him, so his possessions in a cardboard box is what Sam will get instead. As if physical items could even come close to all the things they would and wouldn't tell each other if they ever did have to say goodbye. His gun, the knife he carries in his boot, maybe his ring. The leather jacket that was Dad's at first but has been Dean's for so long that Sam's senses automatically associate the smell of it to his brother; or of any leather. It doesn't matter where it comes from, old leather smells like Dean. That was true even when Sam was in California and Dean was thousands of miles away. It was true when Dean was in Hell. That's why Sam wrapped the jacket up in plastic and left it at Bobby's. He didn't want to smell it.

He watches for a few moments through the slight gap in the curtains before he goes inside. Watches Dean going through the last motions of his life, before it ends, before he gives himself up to Michael like he promised Sam – _promised_ him – he wouldn't. If Sam looked at it, he knows the box would be addressed to Bobby, but it isn't for Bobby. Sam just doesn't have an address to send anything to. He wonders if the letter Dean puts in it is for him too. Maybe it's for Ben. Maybe Dean stupidly believes he and Sam have already said everything to each other that needs to be said.

Sam isn't surprised to find the door unlocked, but he is surprised Dean doesn't hear him enter the room. Usually Dean's senses and reflexes are so good he should be a military sniper. Maybe he's had too much to drink today. Sam wouldn't blame him. After what the angels put them through in Heaven, part of him knew this was going to happen sooner or later. It broke Dean so much he threw out the amulet. Sam had to watch him toss it in the trash and leave the room. That still hurts too much to think about, so he doesn't. He's just angry he didn't realize Dean was going to leave soon enough to stop him. He should have.

"Sending someone a candy-gram?" he asks, startling his brother.

Dean turns around, and looks haunted. Like he'd really never expected to see Sam's face again – like he'd accepted it. Made peace with it, even. "How'd you find me?"

"You're gonna kill yourself, right? It's not too hard to figure out the stops on the farewell tour. How's Lisa doing, anyways?"

"I'm not gonna kill myself."

"No? So, Michael's not about to make you his muppet?"

Dean looks away; annoyed.

"What the hell, man?" Sam asks. "This is how it ends? You just walk out?"

Dean pours himself another drink and mumbles, "Yeah, I guess."

"How could you do that?"

"How could _I_? All you've ever done is run away!"

"And I was wrong!" Sam says angrily. "Every single time I did! Just … please. Not now. Bobby is workin' on something."

"Oh, really? What? You got nothing and you know it."

Sam's never seem him so … empty. So _finished_. It's terrifying. All his life, Dean has been the only one who never gives up. Never surrenders, never lets anything beat him. "You know I have to stop you."

"Yeah, well, you can try. Just remember you're not all hopped up on demon blood this time." Dean's eyes are dark and there's a sick joke playing in the mossy green – he's daring Sam to fight him again. Daring Sam to think he'd win twice.

"Yeah, I know. But I brought help."

Castiel appears behind Dean, glaring at him, more angry than Sam's ever seen him. Dean senses his presence and turns, and Cas touches his forehead and then Dean disappears.

"Come on," he says, gesturing to Sam. "Before he gets away from Bobby."

Sam jogs over, grabs the box off the bed, and lets Cas send them both back to Sioux Falls. Dean has a hand on the doorknob but they arrive in Bobby's kitchen just in time to grab him and push him away from the door.

Dean stumbles backwards and scowls at them. "This is your plan?"

"I know I left. I know I walked out on you a lotta times over the years," Sam tells him. "I'm sorry I did that. And every time you told me I shouldn't have, and every time you were right. Even if I didn't wanna hear it. It took me this long to get that through my thick skull, but I finally did. We're _family_."

"Does that word even mean anything to you, Sam?" Dean asks incredulously.

"It means more than you know. Maybe it didn't always, but it does now. You don't walk out on family. You are the one who's _always_ known that. So you don't get to forget it now, when I need you the most."

"Well maybe I don't give a shit what you need!" Dean snaps. "Maybe for once in my god damn life I'm thinkin' about what I need."

"No you're not."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because you don't know how to do that. You never have."

"Fuck you," Dean spits.

"I don't care if you're mad at me," Sam says quietly. "You have every right to be."

"You're dumb as fuck if you really think that's the only thing goin' on here."

"Boys!" Bobby yells from the living room.

Dean shakes his head at Sam, anger and disappointment written all over his face, and then stalks off into the other room. Sam exchanges a meaningful look with Cas and then follows his brother. Dean's standing in the middle of the rug staring at Bobby, and Bobby's staring back – silent, challenging expressions on their faces like rams daring each other to blink first. Sam steps around Dean and sits in the empty chair across from Bobby's desk; books and loose pages spread over it, full of their desperate attempts to find an answer. After a minute, Bobby wins, and Dean sighs and starts pacing.

"Yeah, no, this is good. Really," he grumbles sarcastically. "Eight months of turned pages and screwed pooches but tonight, tonight's when the magic happens."

"You ain't helpin'," Bobby says.

"Yeah, well, why don't you let me get outta your hair, then?"

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Reality happened. Nuclear's the only option we have left. Michael can ice the Devil, save a boatload of people!"

"But not all of 'em!" Bobby insists. "We gotta think of something else."

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say. But if Lucifer burns this mother down and I could'a done something about it? Guess what, that's on me!"

"You can't give up, son."

Dean laughs, and his voice is cruel when he says, "You're not my father. And you ain't in my shoes."

Sam looks away. He can't see Dean like this. It hurts too much. Then he sees the look on Bobby's face, and he forces himself to look back at Dean. To shake his head, clench his jaw – let Dean know without words how low a blow that was. That Bobby's the only person in the world who's always been there for them, and he doesn't deserve to be treated like that. Dean doesn't even look sorry.

Bobby doesn't speak for a moment. Then he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a revolver. He puts it on the open book in front of him, and takes a single bullet out of his shirt pocket, holding it between his fingers and staring at it.

"What is that?" Dean asks.

"That's the round I mean to put through my skull," Bobby answers darkly. "Every morning I look at it. I think … maybe today's the day I flip the lights out. But I don't do it. I never do it. You know why? Because I promised you I wouldn't give up!"

Sam wants to yell, to scream at Dean, shake him, punch some sense into him if that's what it takes – until Cas cries out in pain behind them, and reality takes over again.

* * *

><p>He doesn't want to lock Dean in the panic room. The things Dean says to him down there cut Sam to his core, but he doesn't blame Dean for saying them. For maybe the first time ever, Sam really listens to the words his brother says to him. He is completely, brutally honest with himself. He knows all the mistakes he's made. All the times he's let Dean down, and then kept expecting Dean to trust him – to stay <em>loyal<em>. Maybe it's because Sam's younger. Or maybe it's because Dean spent so long refusing to let him grow up. Either way, Sam gets it now. It isn't fair, what he's done to his brother. But what Dean's doing isn't fair either. Sam is finally all-in. He's finally ready to put every ounce of faith he has in _them_, and not care if it works or not. And no matter what, he is not letting Dean check out, because if their positions were reversed – as they so often have been – Dean wouldn't give up on Sam. Dean has always been willing to let the world burn down if it means saving Sam. Sam's never felt worthy of that kind of loyalty, but he's always had it regardless. He thinks it's about time he gave it back.

In the end, that's what makes Sam decide to bring Dean with them. Maybe it's a stupid idea. Maybe it's going to ruin everything. It doesn't matter. If they die, then they're going to die together, and Sam is going to go out knowing he put his trust, his allegiance, his _life_, exactly where it should be – in his brother's hands.

"What're you gonna do?" Dean asks, after Sam brings him up to speed about Adam.

"For starters, I'm bringing you with." Sam stands up, passing the small metal key between his fingers and walking toward his brother.

Dean looks confused. "Excuse me?"

"There's too many of 'em." He leans down and unlocks the handcuffs binding Dean to the bed. "We can't do it alone, and uh, you're pretty much the only game in town."

"Isn't that a bad idea?" Dean asks, rubbing the wrist Sam just freed.

"Cas and Bobby think so. I'm not so sure."

"Well they're right. Because either it's a trap to get me there to make me say yes, or it's not a trap, and I'm gonna say yes anyway. And I will. I'll do it, fair warning." His voice is slow and serious like he wants Sam to know he means it. To Sam, it sounds like the voice Dean used to use when he'd periodically decide they were too old to share a bed and make Sam promise to bunk with Dad. He never meant that either.

"No, you won't. When push shoves, you'll make the right call."

"You know, tables were turned? I'd let you rot in here. Hell, I _have_ let you rot in here."

Sam takes a deep breath; remembering. It isn't the same, though. He needed to rot in this room, to get the demon blood out so he could be himself again. The fact that he didn't see it that way at the time doesn't mean Dean made the wrong call. "Yeah. Well, I guess I'm not that smart."

"I don't – I don't get it, Sam. Why're you doin' this?"

"Because. You're still my big brother."

Dean nods, an unreadable expression on his face. "That means something to you now?"

"It always did. I'm sorry if I ever acted like it didn't." Sam gets up and joins Dean on the cot, shoving his brother over gently so there's room for both of them. Dean moves over, but doesn't look like he's entirely comfortable with Sam being so close. He's still hurt. Sam still doesn't blame him.

"I guess it wasn't ever quite that simple," Dean admits, reluctantly. It's a big deal for him to say that. Dean's always had trouble with shades of grey.

"All that really matters to me right now? Is that for _years_, I've been wishing I could believe in you completely again like I did when we were little. Every time things go wrong, I find myself wishing I could make us go back to how we used to be. When all it took to make everything okay again was you promising it would be." Sam nudges Dean's shoulder with his own. "I guess I figure … maybe it's finally time to stop wishing I _could_ have faith in you, and just … have faith in you."

"What if I don't do what you want?"

Sam stands up. He reaches out a hand; Dean takes it cautiously and stands up too. "It isn't about doing what I want. It's about doing what's right. I know you will. You always do. That's who you are, Dean. You're one of the good guys, even if you don't always believe it. C'mon."

He claps Dean on the shoulder and leaves the room. Dean's footsteps follow behind him after a moment, and Sam smiles to himself.

* * *

><p>"Adam!" Dean shouts, trying to open the white, glowing door but recoiling when it burns his skin.<p>

Sam lies on the ground, his insides on fire and the ringing deafening in his ears, and watches helplessly as the light goes out and Dean can open the door but the room is empty and their half-brother is gone. Sam promised Adam they'd keep him safe. He asked Adam to _trust_ them, and now the angels are doing who-knows-what to him and Sam can't help feeling responsible. He's expecting Dean to lose it, to instantly blame himself for the loss of yet another person that they should have been able to save, but Dean just looks scared and wrecked for a moment or two and then he looks at Sam, bloodied and disheveled on the floor, and Sam sees his eyes change. Suddenly it's like he's looking at a teenage Dean. Sam can see the easy, simple, black-and-white _Sammy's hurt, so nothing else matters _written on Dean's face as plain as if it were tattooed there.

Dean runs back over and drops to his knees next to Sam, holding Sam's face in his hands and searching his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Sam nods and exhales shakily. His mouth is still full of blood but the pain is subsiding. "Yeah. I think so. What do we do about Adam?"

"We get the hell outta here in case they come back." Dean helps Sam up and acts as a human crutch as they make their way out of the warehouse. Sam doesn't really need help walking but he lets Dean do it anyway.

They steal a car, an old one with a glass divider between the rows, and head for the highway. The half-smashed phone in Sam's pocket still mostly works so he dials Bobby's number.

"What's going on?" Bobby asks quickly instead of saying _hello_. "Everything okay?"

"Sort of," Sam answers. "Zachariah's dead. But they got Adam. And Cas too, I think."

"Dean didn't say yes?"

"Not … really. We'll explain when we get there, alright?"

"Where are you?"

"Outside L.A. Without Cas, it'll take us a couple days to get back."

Bobby pauses for a moment. "Alright. Are you … okay? You and Dean?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Get here quick," Bobby says, and then the line goes dead and Sam isn't sure if Bobby hung up on him or if the signal faded. He tosses the broken phone onto the dashboard.

"You think Adam's okay?" he asks Dean.

"Doubt it," Dean answers heavily. "Cas either. But we'll get 'em."

"So."

"So what?"

"I saw your eyes. You were totally rocking the _yes_ back there. So, what changed your mind?"

"Honestly?" Dean shakes his head. "The damndest thing. I mean, the world's ending. Walls are comin' down on us. I look over at you, and all I can think about is … this stupid son-of-a-bitch _brought_ me here."

Sam smiles.

"I just didn't wanna let you down."

"You didn't. You almost did, but you didn't."

"I owe you an apology."

"No, man. No you don't," Sam cuts in.

"Just … let me say this. I don't know if it's being a big brother, or what. But to me, you've always been this snot-nosed kid that I've had to keep on the straight and narrow. I think we both know that's not you anymore."

Sam doesn't speak because he doesn't want to shatter the moment. In a way, it sort of means everything to him to hear Dean say that.

"I mean, hell, if you're grown-up enough to find faith in me, the least I can do is return the favor. So screw destiny. Right in the face. I say we take the fight to them, and do it our way."

Sam can't help the smile that spreads across his face. _There's_ the brother he knows. "Sounds good."

Dean smiles at him too – the first real smile Sam's seen on his brother's face in months. It's like balm on wounds Sam had forgotten were still unhealed. It makes him _happy_, and Sam can't quite remember the last time he felt that. Makes him want to dance around like an idiot and at the same time grab Dean and kiss him until they can't breathe.

"So, you plannin' on drivin' all night, or …?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at Dean in a way he hopes gets his message across.

"You tired?" Dean asks, not picking it up right away.

"Not at all," Sam answers pointedly.

Dean's brow is furrowed for just a second and then his eyes widen just slightly as he understands. "Oh. No, you're right. We should definitely rest up. Got a lot of driving to do tomorrow."

Sam laughs.

He shoves Dean up against the door the second it's closed behind them, pushing his brother against the wood and crowding into his space and kissing him. It's been hardly any time at all since the last time but it feels like it's been a year because Sam finally feels like he's kissing _Dean_ again – _his_ Dean, the one he knows, the one he's been missing all these months as the rest of the world conspired to take everything away from them, including each other. Cas and Adam are still gone and Bobby is still stuck in his house waiting for answers but right now, all Sam can think and feel is Dean. For tonight, this is the only thing that matters.

"Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam whispers. "Please. Just let us have this."

They kiss like they're fighting and like they're trying to remember each other at the same time, hands everywhere and Dean's tongue in Sam's mouth and his body solid and warm where Sam's pressing into him. Everything about it is familiar but new, like the first night they spend together after Dean came back from Hell. There's nothing about the feel of his brother against him that Sam doesn't know, but he's learning it all over again.

Dean pushes Sam's jacket off his shoulders and then fumbles with his shirt, and Sam struggles to keep their lips attached as he wrestles Dean's clothes off too. Piece by piece they strip each other, layers of clothing and pretense hitting the floor one by one until they're bare by all possible definitions and nothing is left but the two of them, exposed and defenseless and free of artifice like they've only ever been with each other.

Sam tips them back onto a bed and pulls Dean on top of him, their bodies slotting together like they haven't lost a step. Sam's lips go numb but he can't stop kissing Dean, can't let go of him because maybe if he doesn't, he'll never have to. Dean's hips move in small back-and-forth circles, hardened, anticipating flesh rubbing and moans reverberating between heaving chests and gasping mouths, and Sam's dizzy. He never wants it to end but it will, so he'll hold on for as long as he can.

"I'm sorry," Dean says softly; regretfully, into Sam's neck.

"For what?" Sam asks.

"Everything. Giving up. Leaving. Not believin' in us."

Sam shakes his head and kisses the side of Dean's. He almost laughs, because they're flipped. He's the one wanting to lose himself in touches and kisses and sweaty skin, and Dean's the one who can't stop talking. "You don't have to be sorry. You're allowed to break every now and then, I do. Long as you always let me pull you back."

Dean kisses his shoulder and keeps moving slowly on top of him. Sam thinks it's because Dean can't look him in the eye while he's this vulnerable. He cups his hand around the back of Dean's head so Dean won't have to. "Do you ever think about saying yes?"

"No," Sam answers honestly.

"Why?" Dean sounds ruined by it – like he wanted so badly to believe Sam's weak too.

"Because you and me aren't sayin' yes to the same thing," Sam tells him. He runs his free hand up Dean's back, wanting to reassure him but also needing to make him understand. The difference is important. "Michael wants to destroy Lucifer. Lucifer wants to destroy everything."

"They might both destroy everything."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Dean doesn't answer, and the moment breaks as he starts licking at Sam's shoulder and rolling his hips just a little faster. It's good, too good, the way Dean's lips and tongue move over Sam's skin. He falls into it, then, so Sam can too. The pace slows, mellows out to languid slides of lips and low, pleasured moans. Dean doesn't ask what Sam wants, he just takes what they both want and Sam could cry with the way it fills him up with warmth to be back on the same page. He opens Sam up slowly, taking more time than he has in years, slipping fingers into Sam's body and trying to kiss his soul out through his mouth as he does. Sam drowns in it, the way it feels, the way it makes his skin prickle and heart race, but he lets Dean lead, lets Dean take his hand and just follows along behind him and knows they'll end up somewhere safe.

Sam's loved a few people in his life. With Dean it's something bigger. He trusts Dean. That's different. It means more.

Sam loses his breath when Dean slides into him; the way it fills him up and punches the air momentarily out of his lungs so familiar but always overwhelming. Dean's thrusts are shallow at first, letting Sam get used to it, which Sam doesn't need and it's a sweet, almost romantic gesture from a man who isn't usually either. Then he goes deeper and Sam's world is filed down to just that, the feeling of Dean inside him, moving, stitching them back together again. Sam still hasn't forgotten what Ash told them about soulmates, even if Dean won't talk about it. He's never thought about it in terms that absolute but it makes sense, now, why he only ever feels complete when he's with Dean like this. It isn't about hearts and flowers and Valentine's Day cards, it's about his soul missing it's other half when Dean isn't around.

Dean trails his knuckles slowly down Sam's face, his eyes dark and intense – watching Sam intently, like he's trying to relearn what Sam's face looks like twisted in pleasure. "Feel good?" he asks, unnecessarily, his voice a low murmur that sends shivers over Sam's heated skin. Dean _cares_ if Sam feels good. He's not asking because he wants praise.

Sam laughs a little anyway. "Dumb question." His voice sounds whiskey-soaked. "Wanna go faster?"

Dean kisses him, as slow and lazy as his thrusts into Sam's body. "No. Like it like this."

Sam shivers again. Dean is too much when he gets like this. Too laser-focused on Sam; too overwhelming. Sam is transfixed, hypnotized by him, by the way they move together, so unhurried and deliberate and easy but still bright and sharp. Hot and tender all at once, because it isn't about sex this time. Sam can feel the shift, back to how they used to be. Dean loves him, and wants to show it because it isn't always easy for him to say it.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks softly, kissing Sam's eyelids – he hadn't realized they'd fallen closed.

"Nothing," he answers sincerely. He cups Dean's face in his hands, pulls Dean down so their foreheads rubs together and noses bump and lips catch and drag. "Not one thing."

It isn't quite true. But it's true enough. For now.

He doesn't let go of Dean as they chase bliss and understanding and completion in each other. His arms around Dean's back, Dean's lips on his, their skin damp and warm and pressed together; it's everything Sam wants and everything he doesn't get often enough to be satisfying, even though that almost makes it better on the rare occasions they do have the time to drown in each other for an evening and shut the rest of the world out. Sam falls first, because Dean wants it that way, his body giving in and trembling though the pulses and aftershocks and Dean's there the whole time, rocking into him slow, strong hands keeping him from coming apart too much. Then Dean takes what he needs from Sam and that's even better, the soft, needy moans that spill from his lips and the way his arms shake until Sam pulls him down, lets Dean sink into his chest and hopes he never moves.

Dean's lips part over Sam's skin where his head is buried in Sam's neck and he licks, sucks, absently like he doesn't realize he's doing it. It's wet and warm and keeps Sam balanced on the brink between wanting to drift away into sleep and wanting to rally for another round. Even still, he's cursed with practically and warns, "Don't leave a mark."

"Why not?" Dean asks, the words a wet smear against Sam's neck. "S'hot."

"Not sayin' it isn't," Sam says with a soft, tired laugh. "We're on our way to see Bobby, remember?"

"So pop your collar." Dean only stops sucking long enough to mumble the words and then goes right back to it like he doesn't care if Bobby sees the bruise on Sam's neck and figures some things out.

Sam's eyes close slowly, forgetting himself for a second and focusing on feeling what Dean's mouth is doing. Then he snaps back to the moment and smacks Dean lightly on the back of the head, nudging him off. "M'serious. I've never popped a collar in my life. He'd know something's up."

"Fine. Buzz-kill."

He doesn't mean it. He rolls off Sam and the loss of his heat is like being dunked into ice water for just a moment before Sam lets himself be pulled back into his brother's arms, blankets tucked around him by hands that can squeeze the life out of a monster but always take care of Sam with tenderness Dean wouldn't want the world to know he's capable of.

"Can I ask you something?" Sam pillows his head on Dean's chest; feels it rise and fall as Dean breathes evenly.

"Yeah." Dean's fingers tangle in Sam's messy hair and he moves them absentmindedly, like he wants to feel tethered both to Sam in this moment and to their history. It doesn't really hit Sam until right then – how close his brother actually was to ending it all.

"That letter I saw you put in the box with your stuff. Before I came in the room."

"You were watching me?"

"Just for a second. Thought I should know what I was about to walk into. You taught me that."

Sam smiles a little as he feels Dean internally wrestling between proud that Sam remembered and annoyed at the invasion of what he thought was a private moment. "What about it?"

"Was it for me?"

"Yeah," Dean says softly. "And Bobby."

"Would you ever let me read it?"

"It doesn't say anything you don't already know."

Sam nods. He still wants to know what it says, but not if Dean doesn't want him to. "You think we can do this? Save the world?"

"Or die trying, I guess. Whatever, either way, right?" Dean kisses the top of Sam's head. "The best we can do is try."

"So you're good now?"

"I don't know. Guess I can't promise I'm not gonna lose it again. I've got the weight of the world on my shoulders, here, Sammy. I don't – "

"Half," Sam interrupts. He gets up on one elbow so he can see Dean's face.

Dean pauses and looks at him. "What?"

"_Half_," he repeats, blinking and looking earnestly down at Dean. "You have the weight of _half_ the world on your shoulders. I've got the other half. Much as you try to resist it, I'm with you hit for hit in this, okay? All the way, man. You don't have to stop the apocalypse, _we_ do."

Dean looks at him for a moment, with a soft, thoughtful expression on his face, and Sam think he's going to argue. But he doesn't. He pulls Sam back in and pushes his nose through Sam's hair. "Okay. You and me. I like that."

Sam smiles so much it makes his face hurt. "Me too."


End file.
